Friendship Is a Rare and Precious Gift

When she called to say they’d be stopping by for a few minutes on Labor Day, I didn’t give it a second thought. Deidra and Harry often pop in for a quick visit. After eight years, these friends are more like family now. We’ve vacationed together, shared dozens of meals together, worshipped together, grieved together, and celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays together.

So when they sat on our living room sofa that Labor Day and told us they were moving 1,500 miles away, I admit, my world turned upside down.

They didn’t stay long. I waved from the front door as they walked down the driveway, and then I turned to my husband and burst into tears.

I cried off and on for three days. And when I wasn’t crying, I was surprised to find I was angry. Turns out, I’d written a whole story of the future of our friendship in my head, and suddenly, there was a whole new plotline.

Frankly, I didn’t much like this new story. I vacillated between resenting Harry for accepting a new job halfway across the country, shaking my fist at God for writing a plot that didn’t match mine, and mourning what felt like the end of a friendship I treasured.

Deidra and I met online eight years ago. I don’t remember who stumbled on whose blog first, but I do remember it didn’t take long for us to realize how much we have in common. We are both writers. We are both transplants to Nebraska. We both have two children. We both love dogs, the beach, and shoes.

As the months and years passed, we moved from the light conversations of a beginning friendship into deeper terrain. Deidra is black and I am white, and in the early days of our relationship, I was keenly aware of our cultural differences. But because we grounded our friendship in what we had in common and allowed our relationship to grow naturally at its own pace, we were later able to step gently into the places where we are different. We didn’t always share the exact same viewpoint, and that was okay. We gave each other space and grace.

Last week I stopped by Deidra and Harry’s house one last time. The moving truck stretched along the curb out front. The rugs were rolled up in the living room, and there were boxes stacked in the corner. Deidra and I embraced in the empty dining room, but with the movers bustling about, there was, thankfully, no time for tears or dramatic goodbyes. “See ya,” I said, waving as I walked out the front door.

Still, last Saturday I awoke with a pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat, knowing Deidra and Harry had departed Lincoln earlier that morning, bound for their new home in Connecticut. All day, as I went about my chores and errands, I felt a heaviness in my body and heart that I can only describe as grief.

The truth is, I still don’t like this new twist in our story, because I know that, in some ways, our friendship is bound to change. Yet I also know that the reason I feel such sorrow is because Deidra and I have something rare and precious. Friendships like ours only come around once or twice in a lifetime, and not even 1,500 miles between us can get in the way of that.

Reader Interactions

Comments

What a beautiful tribute to a beautiful friendship. What else is cool about your friendship is that you invite others into your community. Sometimes if you spend time with “besties” in a group setting, you feel left out. But at our writing group, I never felt that way when I was around the two of you. I always felt included. That says a lot about who the two of you are. And that is also a beautiful and rare gift!

I do understand. My best friend moved away too. We have managed to have monthly phone calls that last four hours, we have gone to their home and enjoyed the beauty. But as you say, the day to day, let’s have coffee opportunities are gone. We will always be friends, it’s been over 35 years. She will always hold a special place in my heart.

I remember when I saw the post on social media that they were moving. I thought of you immediately and knew it would be a void in yours and probably hers too. I love this piece, Michelle. Thanks for sharing.

I’ve moved several times from East Coast to West Coast, New England (my original home), to Washington, DC, and now am in the mid south. I’ve had that exact feeling several times, and now have friends scattered all over the country. My hardest departure was (temporarily) permanent! What do I mean by that? Just a week before our very best friends from California, were to join us on a Ministry-related Cruise to New England, my dear friend went to be with the Lord, finally succumbing to non-Hodgkin leukemia (we all thought the remission would last). We are all Christians and were in Christian ministry on the West Coast together, so we knew my friend is with the Lord, but there were some bittersweet moments on that Cruise when my husband and I looked at each other and empty seats at our cafe table and reminisced about our wonderful times together. This was such a reminder to me, that while earthly separations are so hard, we one day will ALL be together for good and forever! Your blog reminded me of that again, too. God has been good and given me another best friend here, also, and we both treasure our moments together. Thank you so much for sharing.

Michelle
When I read on Deidra’s FB page that she was moving, I immediately thought of you (and you both) with sadness. I know how hard that is having watched a friend, who lived around the block from me, drive out of our neighborhood for the last time. Ironically, empty is a feeling. I do know too what you are saying, that real friends are always linked, heart to heart, and no miles or seasons can altar that . . . yes, the shape of the friendship may change, but not its foundation. Wishing you both much love and joy in the new chapter. The story is not over.
Lynn

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Living out faith in the everyday is no joke. If you’re anything like me, some days you feel full of confidence and hope, eager to proclaim God’s goodness and love to the world. Other days…not so much.

Let me say straight up: I wrestle with my faith. Most days I feel a little bit like Jacob, wrangling his blessing out of God. And most days I’m okay with that. I believe God made me a questioner and a wrestler for a reason, and I believe one of those reasons is so that I can connect more authentically with others.